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includedisco · 23 hours ago

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Title: From Guns to Roses (Chapter 5- Final)

Characters: Fadel, Style, Bison, Kant

Pairing: FadelStyle, KantBison

Fandom: The Heart Killers

Tags: First Date, Fluff, Flirting, Alternate Universe-Different first meeting, Eventual Romance,Match-maker KantBison

warnings: none

Word Count: 2,915

Summary: From unlikely date night sparks to domestic boyfriends, Fadel and Style's budding romance shocks Bison and Kant when they walk in on their cozy morning

A/N: Aaand….it's a wrap. I had fun writing this story and sharing it with you guys. Thank you so much for all your support<3

Links for previous chapters: one, two, three, four

Fadel doesn’t waste a second. He leans in, capturing Style’s lips in a kiss that’s soft but insistent. Their lips meet in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens, fueled by the pent-up desire that’s been simmering all night.

Fadel’s hands find Style’s waist, pulling him closer as the kiss intensifies. Style’s fingers tangle in Fadel’s hair, his body pressing against Fadel’s with a need that’s impossible to ignore. The world around them fades, leaving only the two of them and the heat of the moment.

For Fadel, the kiss is a revelation. It’s been a long time since he let anyone this close and even then it happen this fast, but with Style, it feels natural. There’s a warmth in Style’s touch that melts the walls Fadel has built around himself. He feels a surge of something he can’t quite name—relief, desire, maybe even hope. Style’s lips are soft, his movements confident yet gentle, and Fadel finds himself wanting more.

Style, on the other hand, is overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. He was attracted to Fadel from the start, but he didn’t expect this—the way Fadel’s hands feel on his waist, the way his kiss makes Style’s chest ache with longing. For a moment, Style forgets to breathe, his mind spinning with the realization that this is real.

Fadel wants him. Him. The thought sends a shiver down his spine, and he presses closer, savoring the feel of Fadel’s body against his.

When they finally pull apart, both are breathless, their foreheads resting together. Style’s lips curve into a mischievous smile. "I’m a good kisser, right?"

"I’m a good kisser, right?"

Fadel shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "You ruined it by saying that."

"Ah, so I am a good kisser. I just ruined it by pointing it out."

Fadel kisses him again, silencing Style’s words and savoring the taste of his lips. This time, the kiss is slower, more deliberate. Fadel’s hands trail up Style’s back, pulling him even closer, while Style’s fingers brush against the nape of Fadel’s neck, sending a thrilling rush through him

When they finally pull apart, their breaths mingle in the narrow space between them. Style’s lips curve into a soft, dazed smile, his eyes half-lidded and glowing with warmth. Fadel’s chest rises and falls as he studies Style’s face, his usual stoic expression replaced by something softer, something raw and unguarded.

Style breaks the silence first, his voice barely above a whisper. "Well... that was worth the wait."

Fadel’s lips twitch into the faintest smile, his thumb brushing against Style’s cheek. "Yeah," he murmurs, his voice rough but tender. "It was."

They stay like that for a moment longer, their foreheads resting together, their hearts beating in sync.

*****

Later, Style insists on going to an ice cream parlor, claiming he has a sudden craving- which then reminds Fadel of Style talking about pregnancy earlier. Fadel is left is disbelief that his mind actually went there.

He reluctantly agrees to the ice cream parlor thing, already dreading it. Inside the parlor, Fadel is immediately assaulted by the bright, fluorescent lights that make his eyes ache. The place is packed with loud kids and teenagers, their laughter and chatter echoing off the walls.

The tacky décor, cheap plastic furniture is sticky under his fingers, and the smell of sugar and artificial flavors hangs heavy in the air. Fadel feels like he’s trapped in a child’s birthday party.

But Style seems completely at ease. They are seated at a table that’s tucked in a corner because Style wants to people-watch. Fadel’s expression a mix of discomfort and resignation as he looks around. He can’t help but notice how out of place Style looks in his red-breasted milk cow outfit, yet somehow, he fits right in with the absurdity of the place.

Meanwhile, Style is in his element, his eyes lighting up as he scans the menu. Fadel declines eating dessert of any sort while Style orders himself some vanilla and blueberry ice cream.

For a moment Fadel watches as Style enthusiastically digs in.

"You don’t look like a mechanic at all," Fadel says, trying to distract himself from the sticky seat and the cacophony around them. "How did that happen?"

For the first time tonight, Style hesitates. The reaction makes Fadel wonder if he’s touched a sensitive subject.

"I’ll tell you that sad story on our second date," Style says, offering a small smile.

Fadel regrets asking. "You don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfortable."

"I guess they don’t teach you to read between the lines in murder school," Style teases. "I’m trying to really cement the second date plan. I’ll try to be direct with you."

"That’s probably best."

"I became a mechanic to support my dad’s business," Style explains. "There was a time he couldn’t keep the place running because of personal matters. I had to step in."

"What did you want to become?"

"I wanted to study law. I have the smooth tongue to win arguments by confusing the opposing counsel."

"Do you still plan to study?"

"No. That time has passed. I like working with my dad at the garage." Style pauses, then adds, "We are each other’s only family and so, we need each other."

Fadel realizes that beneath Style’s fluffiness lies a depth he hadn’t expected. The pain in Style’s eyes is evident, and Fadel wants to know more—about his past, his dreams, what drives him.

"You’re a good person and a good son," Fadel says, his voice sincere. "Your dad must be proud of you."

Style blushes, his smile softening. "So, will you go out on another date with this good son? You never answered me on that rooftop."

Fadel nods firmly. "As long as you promise not to bring me to a place like this again. My butt is stuck to my seat."

Style laughs, the sound bright and genuine. "It’s sticky, I know. Sorry." He scoops up some ice cream and holds it out to Fadel. "Try it. It’s delicious."

Fadel hesitates, then sighs and accepts the bite. It’s not bad. Maybe the moral of the moment is that he won’t die from trying new things. After all, he pushed through his initial impression of Style and stayed this far on the date.

“Tell me about your family, Fadel.”

“You’ve met him.”

“Bison?”

Fadel nods his head.

“What about your parents?”

“Like you said, let’s reserve the heart-to-heart for our second date.”

After the ice cream place, Style and Fadel step out into the cool night air. Style reaches for Fadel’s hand, his fingers intertwining with Fadel’s as they walk. Fadel doesn’t pull away. Instead, he tightens his grip, a silent acknowledgment of the connection growing between them.

"Your place or mine?" Style asks, his tone playful but his eyes searching Fadel’s for an answer.

Fadel hesitates for a moment, then nods. "Mine. It’s closer."

They drive to Fadel’s place, their hands still linked, and in that time, Style tells Fadel a story about how his bad habit of texting and driving habit recently led to a fender bender car accident.

When they reach Fadel’s house, Style’s eyes widen as he takes in the spacious, well-decorated interior. The living room is sleek and modern, with large windows that let in the soft glow of the city lights. The furniture is minimal but elegant, and the space feels warm despite its size.

"Wow," Style says, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "This is... amazing. I didn’t expect it to be so... you."

Fadel raises an eyebrow. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Style grins. "I don’t know. I guess I thought your place would be all dark and brooding, like a villain’s lair or something. But this... this is nice. It suits you."

Fadel chuckles softly, shaking his head. Before Style can say more, Fadel pulls him into his arms, his hands resting on Style’s waist. Their eyes meet, and for a moment, the world seems to stand still. Then Fadel leans in, capturing Style’s lips in a kiss that’s long and lingering, filled with a tenderness that surprises them both.

Style melts into the kiss, his hands clutching the front of Fadel’s shirt as if anchoring himself to the moment. His heart races, his mind spinning with the realization that this is real. Fadel’s lips are soft yet demanding, and Style feels a warmth spread through him, settling deep in his chest. When they finally pull apart, both are breathless, their foreheads resting together.

"So," Fadel murmurs, his voice low and rough, "what happens next?"

Style smiles, his cheeks flushed. "I want to cuddle to sleep."

Fadel blinks, surprised. "Just cuddle?"

Style nods, his grin widening. "Yeah. Is that okay?"

Fadel studies him for a moment, then nods. "Yeah. That’s okay."

Style’s eyes widen in surprise. "Really? I thought you’d ask for more, since you brought me here."

Fadel chuckles, his thumb brushing against Style’s cheek. "Did you want more than just cuddling?"

Style laughs softly, his cheeks turning pink. "Maybe. But this is good too."

Fadel smiles, a rare, genuine smile that makes Style’s heart skip a beat. "Come on," Fadel says, taking Style’s hand and leading him upstairs.

In Fadel’s bedroom, the atmosphere is calm and intimate. The room is spacious, with a large bed framed by soft, muted colors. Style kicks off his shoes and shrugs out of his over-clothes, leaving him shitless and shorts. Fadel does the same, and they climb into bed together, shifting close until their bodies are pressed together.

The kisses start slow and tender. Fadel’s hands trail along Style’s back, his touch gentle but deliberate. Style’s fingers brush against Fadel’s jaw, his neck, his chest, as if memorizing every detail. The room is quiet except for the soft sounds of their breathing and the occasional whisper.

"You’re not what I expected," Fadel admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Good or bad?" Style asks, his lips curving into a smile.

"Good," Fadel says, his tone firm. "Definitely good."

Style smiles and he leans in to kiss Fadel again, deeper this time. The tension between them builds, but neither rushes. They take their time, savoring the closeness, the warmth, the connection. Eventually, their kisses grow slower, softer, until they drift off to sleep, still wrapped in each other’s arms.

The next morning, Fadel wakes first. The sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. He props himself up on one elbow, peering down at Style, who’s still asleep. Fadel’s fingers brush a strand of hair from Style’s face, his touch gentle.

Style stirs, his eyes fluttering open. When he sees Fadel looking down at him, he smiles, "Morning," he murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," Fadel replies, his thumb tracing the curve of Style’s cheek.

Style giggles softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "We didn’t even have sex, and I’m still this giddy. What’s wrong with me?”

Fadel chuckles, shaking his head. "Nothing’s wrong with you." He pauses, then adds, "Want to shower and have breakfast?"

Style nods, but before Fadel can move, Style grabs his arm and pulls him down for a kiss. It’s a perfect start to the morning. When they finally pull apart, Style grins. "Now I’m ready for breakfast."

Later, in the kitchen, Fadel teaches Style how to make an omelet. Style watches intently, his brow furrowed in concentration as Fadel explains the steps.

"Won’t it burn if I don’t flip it?" Style asks.

"We set the heat correctly. It’ll be fine," Fadel assures him.

"Who knew there’s a whole science behind a good omelet? Does fried pork have some science involved too?"

"You’d be surprised. I’ll teach you next time."

"So I can sleep over again?" Style gives Fadel a seductive look, full of promise.

"Sure."

"Maybe next time we can do more than just cook together," Style says, his hand trailing down Fadel’s jaw. He leans in, kissing him softly.

Style successfully completes the egg omelet project with flying colors. With a satisfied smile, he moves on to making vegetable stir-fry next, with Fadel’s help

Just then, Kant and Bison walk into the kitchen, stopping short at the sight of Fadel and Style cuddled up by the stove. Kant sleeps over the night before, planning to make breakfast before heading to the tattoo parlor. The last thing either one of them expects is to find Style here, inside Fadel and Bison’s house, cuddling with Fadel, and wearing what Bison recognizes as Fadel’s t-shirt.

Kant and Bison glance at each other in shock, their eyes wide and mouths slightly agape, wordlessly asking each other what on earth is happening here. Bison clears his throat, taking a cautious step forward. The sound seems to break the spell as Style and Fadel reluctantly pull apart. Turning around, they find Kant and Bison standing there with identical stunned expressions on their faces.

“Good morning, krub,” Style enthusiastically greets them, his voice chipper and eyes sparkling with happiness.

Fadel chuckles softly at the greeting, a warmth spreading through his chest.

“Style…what are you…?” Bison asks, baffled, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“I spent the night,” Style replies with a grin, his eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and contentment. “But don’t worry, we didn’t have sex. Not sure I’ll say the same after our second date.”

“Second date?” Bison exclaims

“Fadel suggested we go to an aquarium but I’m afraid of marine life unless it’s on my plate.” Style informs

"So... the date works out?" Kant asks, his shock evident, his voice tinged with incredulity.

Style nods vehemently, his excitement palpable. "Turns out we have stuff in common."

"Like what?" Bison asks, unable to resist his curiosity, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies Style and Fadel.

"We’re both crazy," Style says, a playful glint in his eyes, his smile widening.

"About each other," Fadel adds, his gaze locking with Kant’s in a silent challenge, a hint of pride and defiance in his expression. He is very much convinced that Kant sent Style to him to mess with him. That’s why this moment is so satisfying for Fadel.

Kant tears his gaze away and subtly rolls his eyes.

Style taps Fadel on the shoulder to catch his attention, then lifts a forkful of stir-fry to Fadel’s lips. “How’s this?” he asks, his eyes hopeful and filled with affection.

Fadel takes the bite, savoring it before smiling and holding one thumb up at Style, his eyes shining with approval.

"Fadel, I thought you don’t like to be fed," Bison says, his voice tinged with a mix of betrayal and astonishment, like a son whose single dad just got a new girlfriend. Bison wants Fadel to be happy, and so he’s genuinely glad that things seem to be off to a great start with Style; but Bison is also feeling a little possessive about his big brother’s attention.

Fadel can’t decide whether to laugh or feel mortified by his brother’s remark. But as Style leans into him, his laughter bubbling up, Fadel realizes he doesn’t care. For the first time in a long while, he feels... happy.

Bison and Kant offer to help with cooking, but Fadel announces that the food is actually ready, and Style already helped.

As the four of them finally settle down at the breakfast table, the atmosphere is tinged with some awkwardness, some warmth and a bit of lingering surprise.

Fadel and Style sit close together, their heads bent towards each other as they talk softly, seemingly in their own world. The comfort and ease between them are obvious, leaving no doubt about their connection. Fadel’s eyes soften every time he looks at Style, and Style’s smile grows warmer with each shared whisper.

Across the table, Bison and Kant lean towards each other, their heads close as they whisper and gossip. "What are they even possibly talking about, smiling like that? I can’t think of anything," Bison says under his breath, shaking his head.

"Right?" Kant whispers back, a note of disbelief in his voice. “And them cooking together? How did that happen so fast? You and I don’t even cook together.”

Bison looks at his boyfriend, “Oh well that’s because I hate cooking and you look hot doing it, so...” He shrugs

Kant nods slowly, absorbing what Bison just said, but his mind is clearly elsewhere. “Remind me to tease Fadel later about how cheesy and domestic he’s being with Style,” he muses.

Bison smirks, but there's a note of caution in his voice. “I don’t know, Khun. He might stab you.”

Kant laughs softly, glancing at Bison, who is wearing a serious expression on his face, eyebrows raised in a no-nonsense manner.

Suddenly, Fadel turns to Kant with a stern expression and a warning in his eyes. “I heard that,” he says, “and don’t think we’re cool now just because I’m dating your best friend.”

“Fadel, why do you dislike Kant?” Style asks Fadel, his curiosity piqued.

Fadel turns to Style with a soft smile, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “I’ll explain on our third date,” he promises.

“Cool,” Style replies, grinning.

Style then turns to Bison, his smile wide and infectious. “So, Bison, were you also a hitman like Fadel?”

Kant and Bison gape at Fadel, their jaws dropping in unison. “You told him you were a hitman?” they ask incredulously, voices rising in perfect synchrony.

-The End-

for real this time;D

Thank you again for reading ❤️

If you liked this story, please visit my AO3 for more.

#fadelstyle #thk #the heart killers #the heart killers the series #kantbison #joongdunkfanfic #bl fanfic #fadel thk #style thk #bl series #thai bl #thai bl series

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